Puppet Master
by DuskMoon15
Summary: Summary Changed. Humans are fragile; their trust, even more so. Once you break it... you may never get it back. Luckily for Knock Out, he couldn't care less - or so he claims. After all, if the human had any sense, she would never have agreed to come with him at all. It wasn't his fault. He didn't force her to come. So why did he feel guilty?
1. Chapter 1

**AN/EDIT: Chapters 3-5 are currently in the process of being revised.**

**Disclaimer: I own Shiloh, Seth, Marc, and Lily. All others belong to Hasbro.**

* * *

"Hâ`awi mai ia!" shouted a teenager with blue-streaked black hair, green eyes, and very dark tan skin. He chased after a girl his age who had a striking resemblance to him, except her eyes were chocolate and her boyishly short hair was dark brown.

The girl fought back laughter as she yelled back, "'A'ole!" and ducked behind a large wheel-mounted toolbox. She took a switchblade from her pocket, showing it off to the boy.

"Hâ`awi!" He ran around the toolbox and tackled her to the concrete floor. The girl dropped the switchblade in surprise.

"'Ole!" She could barely keep from laughing as she landed on her stomach, her head bouncing off the floor. "Ow."

The boy held tightly while she tried to get up. "Give it back, Shiloh."

"I don't have it anymore, Seth; you made me drop it."

Both of them looked up at the same time, locating the switchblade. It had skittered across the floor after being dropped. Seth let go of his cousin and scrambled for the knife, only for Shiloh to reach it first. But before she could grab it, a dark boot came down on top of it. "Ahem." A tall man, who almost resembled an older version of Seth without the blue in his hair, glared down at the two teens on the floor. Shiloh offered a guilty grin. Seth stopped what he was doing and laughed nervously.

"Aloha, Uncle Marc," Shiloh said quietly.

"Hi, Dad," said Seth.

Marc lifted his boot off the switchblade and picked it up. "What have I told you both about taking these out unless you really need them?"

Seth rose to his feet, gesturing to Shiloh, who also began to get up. "She stole it from me!" he objected. "She has her own. I don't get why she takes mine all the time."

"Maybe because it's so much fun to watch your reaction?" Shiloh rubbed her forehead where it had hit the concrete floor. "Dammit, Seth, that hurt."

Sighing, Marc shoved the switchblade in his pocket. At his son's indignant "Hey!" he snapped, "Customers, Seth. They're not here to wait while you fight with your cousin. Now get out front and do your job. Same for you, Shiloh."

"Yes, sir," both teenagers mumbled. Seth punched Shiloh in the shoulder on his way past. In reply, she kicked his knee. They exchanged glares.

Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. As much as the two cousins fought, one would think they hated each other. But the opposite was true - anyone who insulted or hurt Shiloh would soon find themselves confronted with a very angry Seth, and vice-versa. "Forgetting something?" he called as Shiloh started to head toward the front of the shop after Seth. The teenage girl huffed angrily, but walked back and handed off a switchblade similar to the first one.

* * *

Up front, a familiar face waited for the two cousins. Vince rose when he saw Seth approaching. He proffered the palm of his hand, which the other boy clapped in greeting. "Howzit, Vince?"

"Pretty good." Vince glanced at Shiloh, who was attending to the other customer with an all-too-fake smile on her lips. "What's up with her?"

Seth followed his friend's gaze. "Eh, we got into a scrap and my dad busted us. She'll be fine by tonight."

"She better be, 'cause I'm itching for a good race."

"I can hear you, ya know," came an irritated voice. Shiloh turned away from the other customer, putting her hands on her hips. The customer behind her cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Seth shook his head, turning back to Vince. "So, what's wrong with your car?"

Vince motioned for his friend to follow him outside. "I'll show you." The two boys went out to a black sports car with flames painted on.

Seth popped the hood and inspected the engine. "I don't see anything wrong." Then he leaned closer and said, "Ah, now I do. One of the pipes is cracked. Shouldn't take too long to fix. Bring it around and I'll get on it." As Vince did as instructed, Seth walked back through the shop and heard Shiloh assessing the other customer's car.

"Nice dent. Get rear-ended? Never mind, it doesn't matter. My uncle's up front; he'll give you the price and the paperwork."

Chuckling, Seth murmured, "You never change, Shy. And I don't want you to." He arrived at the section of the shop with the garage-type door. He opened it, and Vince drove his car inside.

"Will it be able to race tonight?" Vince asked, exiting the car.

"Yeah, just give me twenty minutes." Seth zipped up his coveralls to prevent his shirt from getting dirty while he worked. "All I need to do is drain the fluids from the engine, weld the pipe shut, and problem solved."

Nodding even though he could really care less about what had to be done, Vince found a space of wall without shelves or anything stacked against it and leaned on it. "Better question: are you and Shiloh racing tonight?"

Seth felt an inexplicable apprehension strike him. He hesitated before responding, "We... wouldn't miss it." He grabbed a wrench and started unscrewing the valve cap. "So, I heard about the race between you and Darby a few weeks ago."

"Darby cheated!" Vince exclaimed without warning. "I don't know how, but I know he cheated."

From under the car's hood, Seth made a sound as if to say, "Sure he did." He started draining the fluids out of the engine, careful not to let any splash the ground. "Saw his bike outside of school a couple of times. A real pretty thing, it is. What does it sound like? Does it run well?"

"Ah, it's a just a moped," scoffed Vince.

"You serious? That bike is beautifully built and perfectly streamlined. Don't see many of those in Jasper, that's for sure." Seth got out from under the hood and pointed the wrench at his friend. "I'd love to get my hands on it, if only to take it apart in the end."

Vince was about to snap that it was still a moped when a cry rang out from Shiloh's work area. Both of them dropped what they were doing to run in that direction.

Shiloh was bent over next to the car, her left hand held against her stomach and cradled with her right. Her face was twisted in pain. Seth grabbed her shoulders and helped her to the ground. "Vince, get my dad. Tell him to bring the first-aid kit." Vince nodded and ran off. "What did you do?"

"The bumper was dented, so I removed it. Went to get a hammer to pound it into shape and grabbed a sawblade by accident," Shiloh explained through gritted teeth. "Why is that even in here?"

Marc arrived, Vince on his heels. "Let me see," he ordered. Shiloh shook her head. "Shiloh, let me see or it won't stop hurting." Finally she showed him her hand. "Okay, it's not too bad. Wash it off and I'll bandage it."

"Wash it off?" Shiloh squeaked. "With water? Is that really necessary?"

Seth sighed and said to Vince, "He's got this handled; let's get back to work on your car. We want it to be ready for the Circuit tonight, don't we?"

* * *

Shiloh examined both the other racers and their cars, though she was far more interested in the cars than their drivers. She loved older cars. They were just the right blend of power and style.

Which was why it surprised her that she was paying far more attention to the modern Aston Martin as opposed to the far older Thunderbird that was nearby. To be fair, it might have been the Aston Martin's paint job that caught her eye in the first place. Two shades of dark red, silver decals along the sides, and gold in just the right places on the hood and front doors.

Man, that car was beautiful.

Fittingly, the car's driver was just as stylish. He wore a leather jacket over a red shirt and tight black jeans. Several dog tags marked with the same strange symbol on them hung from a chain around his neck. Pale brown eyes darted around, resting for a brief second on the various racers, spectators, and cars in turn. His red hair - Shiloh noted that it was the exact same color as the base of the Aston Martin's paint job - stood up spikily as if gelled. His natural expression seemed to be a self-confident smirk that almost made Shiloh want to punch him.

But she wouldn't punch him. Her hand still hurt from grabbing that sawblade, and besides, she really didn't want to start a fight. Most of the people that came to the races were considered by pretty much everyone in Jasper likely to end up in prison or an insane asylum. They weren't the kind of people to ignore a blow, whether it was physical or to their ego.

Unfortunately, Shiloh found all this out the hard way. Before one of her first races, she made a remark about one of the participant's cars being a beater. As a reminder, she had a scar from the top of her left ear all the way along the cheekbone. From that point on, neither she nor Seth were allowed to leave home without a switchblade or some other type of weapon to use in an emergency.

Startling her out of her thoughts, one of the other racers came up and said, "You feel something off about tonight?"

"You've got pre-race jitters, Lily," Shiloh assured her best friend. "Nothing bad is going to happen. Nothing bad ever happens on the Falcon Crest Route."

"Something's off," Lily insisted. She looked quickly at the Aston Martin's driver and pulled Shiloh off to the side. "It's that guy. He freaks me out. He looks at you half the time, but you don't notice because you're looking at his car."

Shiloh glanced at 'that guy' and laughed softly. "It doesn't bother me. I don't see why it bothers you. He's probably just trying to figure out the competition here. It's obviously his first race."

"No, Shy, it's not." Lily nervously tried to convince her friend to listen. Why did Shiloh have to be so stubborn? "I talked to some of the others, and they've seen him here once before on the night Darby decided to try his hand in the Circuit. Some of them also heard that this guy has raced all across the continent, and he's known for running some guy off a cliff who scratched his paint."

"Trust me," Shiloh said reassuringly, "I won't trade paint with him. That car's just too beautiful to mess up."

"I'm asking you as a friend to be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Racers!" came the shout from the starting line.

Shiloh forgot the answer that had been on the tip of her tongue and ran to her car, her attention entraptured by the impending start to the race. Nearby, Seth, Vince, and the driver of the Aston Martin got into their own vehicles. Lily stayed where she was for a few seconds before dashing to her car.

While everyone was lining up, a yellow Camaro with black racing stripes tore into position next to the Aston Martin. The tinted driver's side window rolled down to allow the driver, a boy in his late teens with blonde hair, a furious glare at the Aston Martin's driver. The latter driver lowered his own window and hissed excitedly, "I was beginning to think you'd never join in the _fun."_ In reply, the blonde teen revved his engine loudly and rolled up his window.

Shiloh suddenly realized why the Aston Martin's driver had made Lily nervous. There was just something about him that set you on edge.

And the Camaro's driver was _seriously_ not helping.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Hâ`awi mai ia! - Give me it!**

**'A'ole! - Never!**

**Hâ`awi! - Give!**

**'Ole! - No!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN/EDIT: Chapters 3-5 are currently in the process of being revised.**

**Disclaimer: I own Shiloh, Seth, Marc, and Lily. All others belong to Hasbro.**

* * *

Hidden in the shadow of the rock face, Bumblebee watched the preparations for the race. According to Jack, some of the racers in town had been talking about 'The Red Devil' attending the Saturday night race. Optimus had immediately assumed this mysterious racer was the Decepticon Knock Out and sent Bumblebee to investigate.

The first to arrive were a group of older humans, three boys and one girl. Bumblebee could detect no threat from them, so he delayed contacting Base. Next to arrive were a pair of teenagers he recognized from when he picked up Raf from school. The boy had often praised his alt-form as he walked past to the girl, who merely stated that she preferred old cars. Jack had spoken of them once or twice at Base, saying that they had a passion for cars and racing. Vince was the next to arrive, his car's engine growling throatily.

_Still no sign of Knock Out,_ Bumblebee mused. He was about to contact the rest of Team Prime and report the rumor as just a rumor when a familiar Aston Martin rolled up. Knock Out must have engaged his holoform, because a human with striking red hair and a leather jacket exited his alt-mode.

Bumblebee contacted Optimus and informed him of the sighting, asking for permission to engage.

::That is an outcome which should be avoided if at all possible. However, if in the event he poses an immediate threat to any of the humans, you have permission to engage him.::

The Autobot scout replied affirmative to the order, unease coloring the beeps. He examined Knock Out's holoform as it leaned against the Decepticon's alt-form and found himself surprised to see the Decepticon insignia flaunted on a pendant around the holoform's neck. Bumblebee noticed that Knock Out primarily focused on the girl with dark brown hair, while she spent an inordinate amount of time appraising his vehicular form.

A few minutes had passed when Bumblebee picked up on the conversation occurring between the two girls.

"It doesn't bother me. I don't see why it bothers you," said the brunette girl with a mildly irritated expression on her face. "He's probably just trying to figure out the competition here. It's obviously his first race."

_You couldn't be more wrong,_ the disguised Autobot thought. He almost wished he could be that ignorant of friend and foe.

"No, Shy, it's not. I talked to some of the others, and they've seen him here once before on the night Darby decided to try his hand in the Circuit," the second insisted, looking just as annoyed as her friend. "Some of them also heard that this guy has raced all across the continent, and he's known for running some guy off a cliff who scratched his paint."

_Listen to your friend. She's smart._

"Trust me, I won't trade paint with him. That car's just too beautiful to mess up."

"I'm asking you as a friend to be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you."

It was then that all the racers were called to the starting line and the two girls ended their conversation, leaving for their own cars with only the slightest hesitation.

Sudden anxiety struck Bumblebee. He didn't trust Knock Out to simply race and let the humans be. Something was going to happen, and if he merely waited for it to occur, one of the humans would be caught in the crossfire.

And that was something Bumblebee could not allow.

* * *

The roaring of engines filled Bumblebee's audio receptors, surrounding him on all sides. Knock Out was to his left, one of the humans was to his other side, and there were several others in front and behind him. The Autobot was literally in the middle of the pack.

Knock Out hadn't done anything yet, but Bumblebee knew he would any time now. Cutting the Decepticon off from the humans was his primary goal; if he could ruin his precious paint job in the process, that was just a bonus.

Bumblebee deliberately swerved so that his bumper glanced off of Knock Out's door, prompting the crimson Decepticon to not-so-gently nudge him back. They continued on like this for a length, the former taking every opportunity to swipe at the latter's paint job and drive him closer to the edge of the road.

Suddenly Knock Out accelerated, and in turn Bumblebee sped up also. Knock Out allowed the Autobot to take maneuver himself into a position where he could run him off the road, but when Bumblebee was about to do so, his opponent hit the brakes. Unable to pull away in time, Bumblebee slammed into the nearest racer and sent the car spinning out. There was a high-pitched squealing as the driver fought to regain control, cut off by a sickening crunch as the car met the mesa a few hundred feet off the road.

Bumblebee halted, activating his holoform. His tanks churned. He headed for the smoking wreck of the human's car, praying the driver was still alive. In the background he heard engines shutting down and shouting. The other humans must have seen the smoke and come to see what was wrong.

One of the girls screamed something - a name, concluded the fraction of Bumblebee's processor that was still functioning.

He reached the wreck, and felt his spark sink. The engine was leaking everywhere, the windshield had shattered, the hood peeled back against what was left of it.

To say nothing of the driver. From what Bumblebee could see so far, it was bound to be worse inside the car. It was too dark to see much, not to mention that the driver's side door was pinned against the mesa.

"Seth!" It was the girl who had screamed earlier. She flew past him and pulled on the passenger door of the car, but it was stuck. "Oh gods, let him be okay. Please let him be okay." She pounded on the door, trying everything she could think of to make it open. It refused to budge.

Vince arrived next, immediately joining the girl in trying to open the door. He was staring into the wreck, where as she was too panicked to look. "Come on, buddy, get up!" he yelled. "Dammit, you better not be dead!"

The rest of the humans reached them at once, all yelling incomprehensible things. None of them seemed to notice Bumblebee.

The two oldest ordered the others out of their way. One smashed the glass and opened the door from the inside, backing away to let the other crawl inside.

The girl was shaking, all color gone from her skin. "Please," she begged, "don't take him from me." Vince and the other girl took turns comforting her.

"Shiloh, which pocket's his knife in?" called the racer who had climbed into the wreck.

"F-front right," the girl stammered.

A minute went by before the racer carefully climbed back out of the wreck, cradling the unconscious Seth in his arms. Blood dripped down the teenager's forehead and stained his clothes. One arm hung limp at an awkward angle and the other was severely bruised. But the most obvious injuries were the vertebrae protruding in his lower back.

Bumblebee stepped back. What had he done?

The sound caused the humans to turn in his direction. Vince's expression took on a dark undertone. The blond girl stared for a few seconds before she understood what had happened.

"You-" Shiloh choked on the accusation, the color returning to her cheeks. Her eyes narrowed and she swallowed. "You-!" Again she broke off. A reddish tint entered her skin. She lunged forward, tackling Bumblebee into the desert sand. "You almost killed him!" she shrieked, punctuating each word with a blow.

Bumblebee immediately realized that she was related to Seth, or close enough to be his sparkmate. It should have been obvious from her expression right before she attacked him. The same expression had twisted the faceplate of Sideswipe when his twin Sunstreaker was killed in battle, and marred those of countless Cybertronians when their sparkmates were struck down. Never in a thousand millenia would he have imagined a human bearing it.

Still, he took the blows silently, not striking back. Even if it weren't his fault, he would never be able to strike a human.

The weight was lifted off of him after a minute or two. He stood, and realizing what a normal human would do, dusted himself off. Vince and one of the other boys were holding Shiloh back.

"The only reason we're holding her back is because it would take too long to clean up the mess," Vince clarified.

Shiloh thrashed against them. "Let go!" she screamed, tears running down her face. "Let me go! He- he-"

"Not important right now," Vince soothed, glaring at the Autobot's holoform. "What's important is that we get Seth to the hospital."

The blond girl spoke up. "I already called 911, but it'll be a while until they get here."

Shiloh struggled harder against the two other racers. She glowered with murderous intent at Bumblebee. "You almost killed him," she repeated, her voice low and threatening. "Understand that if I see you again, I will not hesitate to return the favor." Finally, she ripped out of their grasp and went over to Seth. No one else said a word.

Bumblebee took the hint and returned to his alt-mode, dissolving his holoform into static as soon as the door closed. He could see a flash of red in his rearview mirror disappearing down the road. Once he arrived back at base, he knew he would have to explain what he had done.

_Optimus, I've made a terrible mistake..._


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: My muse has been very sadistic lately. I kind of hate it right now. But I can't do anything about that, now can I?**

**Disclaimer: Need I even say it? Hasbro owns Transformers. I don't own anything except for my OCs.**

* * *

Knees drawn up to her chest, fingers clutching her jacket sleeves, head tilted off to one side, Shiloh bored a hole in the pattered tile floor of the Jasper hospital. She could feel Vince's comforting arm across her shoulders, hear Lily frantically assuring her over and over that everything would be alright. Neither did anything to quell her growing anxiety. If anything, they just made it worse.

"Everything's going to be fine," Lily repeated, voice lackluster. Shiloh was her best friend, and by extension, Seth was too. Honestly, the Hawaiian street racer was taking the night's developments extremely well. Lily had expected a tantrum, like the time Seth got into a fight with Trey and came back battered. Just sitting there, silent and trembling, was a surprisingly calm reaction for Shiloh. She was still in shock, Lily suspected.

On the other hand, Vince knew the real reason for Shiloh's silence. She was scared. More than that, she was angry. Another kid – one nobody knew – had done this. Vince didn't even have to look at the yellow paint ground into the side door of Seth's car to know that. The look in the newcomer's eyes when Shiloh turned on him had been enough. It was obvious to anyone who'd known Seth and his cousin for any period of time that the two were closer than brother and sister. What affected one affected the other, and when one was hurt, it shook the other to their core.

A ragged breath gripped Shiloh, and a lump formed in her throat. _This isn't happening, _she lied. _This isn't happening._ But mental images of the crash were all too clear, all too real for Shiloh to pretend it hadn't happened. Her shoulders shook as she struggled to fight back the sobs forcing themselves into her throat. She was stronger than this; she wouldn't cry. Wouldn't break down in the hospital waiting area with dozens of eyes on her. Wouldn't throw a fit or shout or do anything like that. Reality had just about collapsed around her and she would still try to stand and fight it. She was a Winters after all.

But that didn't mean none of this hurt.

It _did_ hurt, more than it would have if she had been the one injured.

How could one crash hurt her like this? How could it make her scared and angry and upset all at the same time?

Perhaps it would be best not to think about it now.

Shiloh wasn't sure if that was such a good idea. Not thinking about it wouldn't mean it never happened, wouldn't miraculously make Seth okay. Ignoring the problem would just make it worse.

The only way to fix the problem was to find the source and eliminate it.

Slowly, deliberately, Shiloh let go of her sleeve with one hand and reached for the switch in her pocket. Without caring that there were bound to be at least seven security cameras on her at the moment, she pulled it out, flipping it open. Its polished surface caught the light perfectly as she turned it around and around in front of her face, stopping when she could see her reflection.

There was no more fear in her eyes.

She knew what she was going to do.

* * *

Shiloh felt like a little girl again, sitting in her uncle's lap, leaning against him. He'd come as soon as he was called. Why wouldn't he? Seth was his son.

Neither of them spoke, as there was nothing to be said. Perhaps more importantly, they were both too worried to even attempt conversation. And although Marc wanted to know what happened, he knew Shiloh would tell him when she was ready to. Not before, not after.

A doctor shuffled over, white lab coat fluttering behind him. Awkwardly, he asked, "How did," – he checked his notes for the name – "Seth sustain his injuries?"

"Auto accident," mumbled Shiloh absently.

"In town or on the highway?"

"Open road by Falcon Crest."

The doctor nodded as he jotted down the information. Falcon Crest was a popular route for illegal races; it was treacherous and confusing. And according to Seth Winters' medical records, he'd been hospitalized with a minor concussion due to an automobile accident some three years previously, and wound up back in the same room with a torn bicep the next month – presumably from getting his arm stuck in the steering wheel during another crash. It was a safe bet his current injuries had been while street racing as well.

"I see," said the doctor at last.

As he turned to leave, Marc held up a hand. "How is he?"

Once more, the doctor consulted his notes. "It's a long list of injuries, Mr. Winters," he cautioned. A stiff nod to continue. "He has two breaks in the lumbar spine, one at vertebrae L1 and the other at L4. These are the worst injuries. I suspect he has sustained a severe concussion, though that has not been determined yet. The lacerations on his scalp required stitching, but that's been taken care of. Both wrists are fractured but not broken completely. And I suppose we have to entertain the possibility that due to excessive spinal cord injury, he may very well be paralyzed below the first break. All of this – It's only what we know about right now. Upon further examination, who knows what else we might find? I will say this, Mr. Winters: he's very lucky to be alive." The doctor glanced at Marc and Shiloh. They both had dropped their eyes to the ground. He sighed. "I'll let you know when you can see him."

* * *

Ever had one of those moments? The ones where you just wish you could wake up and find everything is as it should be?

Shiloh was having a lot of those lately.

Again she was waiting, this time in the room where her cousin was. Marc had fallen asleep some time ago, so the teen was the only one awake. Kind of fitting, given she was planning. Plotting, actually.

The only problem was the fact she had no clue where the guy would be. He'd just disappeared… after she'd yelled at him of course. That was stupid on Shiloh's part. Sure, she was mad at him, but she shouldn't have snapped like that.

Not that she was feeling any remorse for being angry at him. Seth could have died. At best he'd never be able to walk again, at worst he'd be completely paralyzed.

Shiloh scowled and glared out the window. Something else was bothering her. That other racer, the one who drove the Aston Martin, he had some part in all this. Maybe he hadn't deliberately done anything, but he knew the culprit; he had a score to settle with him.

Next time Shiloh saw him, they were going to have a talk.

Then, something drew her attention in the parking lot. Something red. Something flashy.

What the _heck_ was he doing here?


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Hasbro has the rights to Transformers. I just like to write about them.**

* * *

This was stupid. This was insanely stupid. Shiloh didn't even know what she was doing down here. She was supposed to be upstairs, keeping an eye on Seth, not on the ground floor, heading for the parking lot. Yet something about the Aston Martin made her do it.

For some reason it didn't feel right to directly refer to the sports car's driver instead of the car itself.

Shiloh shook her head to clear it, and then quickened her pace. There would be plenty of later to ponder that.

The damp air hit like a solid wall as she got outside. Quickly she scanned the area for a now-familiar red paintjob. Sure enough, she found the car and its driver near the front of the lot. As usual, the red-haired man was smirking.

_Smug little peacock._ Anger boiled up suddenly in Shiloh's chest. The driver seemed to sense it. He turned teasing brown eyes on her, daring her to come closer. An almost imperceptible tilt of his head was all it took to send Shiloh storming over.

They stood face-to-face for a long, silent moment. Then Shiloh swung her fist at the man's head…

And stopped in shock.

Milliseconds before her knuckles would've collided with his temple, the driver grabbed her wrist. He glanced sideways at it and slowly lowered his arm, pulling the Hawaiian's down as well. Shiloh tried to jerk away, but the hand clamped around her wrist felt like iron.

"Let's try this again," the driver suggested. "Shall we?" He offered a smile. Shiloh just glared. "Call me Knock Out."

Voice tight, the younger racer replied, "Shiloh."

"See, wasn't that easy?" Knock Out took a small step forward. Shiloh backed off two, finding herself strangely mute.

Finally she demanded harshly, "What do you want?"

A laugh escaped Knock Out. "We both know that's not the right question." Light from the hospital windows glinted off his dog tags, illuminating a strange symbol slightly reminiscent of an alien face. He said softly, "I can help you."

Shiloh scowled darkly. "What makes you think I need any help?"

"You won't be able to find him on your own."

"And you propose to help me."

"Why not?" Knock Out countered.

"Because I can tell it's not your style," Shiloh stated. She yanked her wrist free and started back towards the hospital.

"I know exactly what you're planning, youngling, and I can tell you right now that you'll never get past square one without me. Face it – you can't handle the task you've set for yourself."

Shiloh bristled, stopping mid-stride. "You don't know _anything_ about me." Spinning on her heel, she waited for an answer.

Clearly amused, Knock Out chuckled. With a dismissive flick of his hand he said, "I know that, contrary to what you tell everyone, your parents are in prison. Have been since you were three. Illegal possession of arms following an earlier conviction, I believe it was. After that you lived in Hawaii until some kid wound up with a broken collar bone when he insulted your family.

"Then you got shipped here and immediately began to help around your uncle's shop. Seven years later and you're the best auto detailer in the county. Oh, and you took up street racing as a pastime some four years back." Knock Out smirked cockily. "Am I close?"

"So you know my history." Shiloh was beginning to become a little unnerved. No one – not even Seth – knew that much of her past. Well, there was Uncle Marc, but he was her guardian after all. How in the world could this Knock Out know all that information? "That doesn't mean you know even a little about me." Her voice was quavering, Shiloh knew.

A reply had formed on Knock Out's lips when he suddenly froze. His gaze snapped upwards and his upper lip curled. "No worries, _Herr Kommandant,"_ he growled to seemingly no one. "I'm on my way." Irritation now his dominant expression, he looked back at Shiloh. "If you want to talk more, I'll be around."

As he opened the door to get in his car, Shiloh noticed a three-foot long scratch along the passenger door. It marred an otherwise beautiful finish. _No. No-freaking-way,_ she protested angrily, but the words tumbled out anyway. "Such a pretty car doesn't deserve a nasty scratch like that. My uncle wouldn't approve, but come by the shop tomorrow afternoon and I'll fix it up for you. Free of charge."

The driver's smirk softened into a small grin. "I might just take you up on that." Then he climbed into the Aston Martin and sped off.

Something randomly occurred to Shiloh as she jogged back to the door of the grayish-white building. She paused. "What kind of a name is Knock Out?"

* * *

"They're staring," Shiloh hissed, fidgeting uncomfortably. She wasn't even looking around – she was taking her books out of her locker – but she could tell. People had stared pityingly ever since Saturday night, almost two days ago. Grabbing a final textbook, she deliberately slammed the locker door shut. The hinges whined an objection at the rough treatment.

Lily touched her arm, giving a forced smile. "Ignore them." They went down the hallway and the crowd shifted to give them a wide berth. Lily had a hard time trying not to feel sorry for her friend; she knew Shiloh hated being pitied. Once they reached a certain intersection, she said, "I have to go. See you, Shy."

"Yeah, bye." Shiloh sounded distracted. "See you later, Lily."

When she got to English, the bell had just rang. Shiloh silently sat in her desk, numb to Mr. Ryan's complaints about her being tardy again. Someone had put a newspaper on her desk. One of the articles was circled in black marker. While the rest of the class took out their essay drafts, Shiloh read it. Her face turned hot as she got farther into the article. Before she was even halfway through, she stood abruptly, leaning on the desktop. Everyone turned to look at her. She threw the newspaper at the wall; it hit with a satisfying smack. "This isn't funny," she announced, steel in her voice. "If I find another one, I will burn it."

Mr. Ryan said shortly, "Miss Winters, sit down." Shiloh glowered, still standing. The teacher straightened. "Sit down, or you will be sent to the dean."

Shiloh took a final look at the shocked expressions of her classmates. One in particular, Jack Darby, seemed especially caught off-guard. She narrowed her eyes and sat.

"Thank you," Mr. Ryan said. He went up to the board to start the lesson.

Fuming internally, Shiloh barely noticed when a hand tapped her on the back. A sharp sigh escaped her and she turned halfway around. "What, Darby?"

"About your cousin… Look, I'm really sorry," Jack whispered. A reserved curiosity shone in his eyes, instantly setting Shiloh on the defensive.

"I don't want to talk about it." The Hawaiian started to face front again.

"Must've been quite the accident," Jack pressed. There was no reply. "Is Seth alright?"

"You really don't care, Darby. You haven't ever cared."

Jack leaned back, raising his hands. "Hold on, what if I really am concerned here?"

Shiloh lowered her voice. "He was run into a mesa at over a hundred miles an hour. Do you really think he could just walk away from something like that?"

"Bumblebee didn't mean-" Jack broke off, lowering his head and focusing intently on his schoolwork. He fervently hoped Shiloh hadn't heard that. Unfortunately, luck did not favor him today.

"Who?"

"Ahem." Mr. Ryan finally noticed the conversation going on behind his back. "Mr. Darby, Miss Winters."

Stifling an angry curse, Shiloh turned back to the front of the classroom. It seemed the only thing she had to look forward to – and it really wasn't that big of a deal at all – was repairing the Aston Martin this afternoon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: See first four chapters.**

* * *

"So let me get this straight: no fingerprints, you want me to be careful on the finish, etc, etc." Shiloh rummaged through her supplies for a certain paint can that actually wasn't filled with paint.

Knock Out nodded. "Perfection isn't easy, so I'd appreciate your compliance."

Shiloh laughed for a good two or three seconds. "If I weren't trying to be nice, I'd be insulted. You underestimate my skills." A gray can streaked with a blackish substance caught her eye on the top shelf. "Marc," she groaned, "not everyone's as tall as you." As she left the room to get a step-stool, Shiloh took off her jacket. Underneath, she wore a slightly loose green tank top. She disappeared around the corner, muttering crossly to herself. Once she returned, a collapsed stepladder under her arm, she got down the things she needed. A thick cloth, a pair of gloves, a can of red paint exactly the color of the car's paint job, an airbrush, some enamel and high-gloss finish, wax, and of course, the paint can that was not filled with paint.

It was instead filled close to the rim with a corrosive black liquid that flowed thick and sticky like oil. Marc and Seth discovered it could eat away paint without damaging the car itself when a few bottles were knocked over and their contents spilled on Shiloh's Camry. Ever since it had been in use instead of a sandblaster like most auto shops used.

Shiloh pulled on the stained black gloves - which seemed to serve no actual purpose, being fingerless and made of leather - and popped the lid off the black-smeared paint can. Knock Out's eyes widened when the teen knelt next to the Aston Martin and dipped the edge of the cloth in the sticky liquid. "No!" he practically shouted. "That is not touching my frame!"

_What the- _Your _frame?_ Shiloh thought in confusion. She quickly looked at the racer. His features went blank, like he knew he said something wrong and was trying to hide the fact. Standing and turning to face him, Shiloh poked him in the chest. Knock Out's arms flew up and out, and he leaned away. Shiloh suddenly realized she was touching him with the soaked cloth. The revelation didn't make her sorry for it. He deserved a good knock or two to his ego. Nevertheless, she moved a pace or two back. "That," she snapped, "is much better for a car's aluminum shell than anything else I've ever heard of. There's dirty paint ground into the scratches, and face it, Pretty Boy, that isn't comin' out without a good deal of work. I know my job and I know how to do it well. You _better_ let me do it, 'cause you may be a racer, but you sure don't know as much about cars as I do."

Sparing a glance at the stain on his shirt, Knock Out growled. The sound was similar to the rumble of a sports car's engine at the start of a race. "You'd be surprised how much I know about cars, skinjob."

"Hate to tell you this, but you're a skinjob too."

"This almost isn't worth the aggravation." Knock Out obligingly backed away and kept quiet. He didn't look happy about it, but he was quiet.

Satisfied yet perplexed, Shiloh returned to her earlier task, crouching beside the Aston Martin. Again she dipped the cloth in the liquid. When she was done, Shiloh removed the excess on the lip of the paint can. The instant before she touched the side door of the sports car, a deep rumble came from its engine. "Did you leave the keys in or something?" she asked.

It was Knock Out's turn to be perplexed. He cocked his head, like he didn't understand the question.

Shiloh rolled her eyes. Knock Out was cocky - and admittedly lived up to his name - but he was an idiot. "Did you forget to turn off the car?" Knock Out shook his head. The teen sighed. "Whatever." She rubbed the cloth over the damaged area. A little red came off. That was wierd. Usually most of the paint came off with only one application. Shiloh felt frustration rise in the back of her throat, but didn't allow it to affect her work. Too much pressure and the car's chassis would dent; too little, and the job wouldn't get done. Soaking the majority of the cloth this time around, she tried again, pressing slightly harder than before.

Fifteen minutes later, all the paint had been removed from the portion of the door around the scratches. Shiloh wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a black smear that didn't seem to bother her. She examined the scratches now that they were more visible. They had gone deep into the metal of the sports car's exterior, ripping up the outside and leaving it ragged. Electric blue fluid seeped into the scratches and rolled in slow-moving beads down the door. Shiloh cast a disbelieving look at Knock Out. "Another car did all this?"

"Ruined my freshly waxed finish," Knock Out grumbled, crossing his arms. "No respect for anything, those Autobots."

_Now I'm even more confused. What in the world are Autobots?_ Shiloh ignored the questions swirling in the back of her mind. "Might want to tone down that vanity a notch or two, Knock Out," she said. "Before I knock it down about three feet."

The red-haired man chuckled, smiling. "I'm not intimidated, femmeling. That may work on some of the pathetic skinjobs you race with, but it won't work on me."

"Just answer the question: did another car do all this?" Shiloh demanded.

"You... could say that," Knock Out answered slowly. His focus appeared to be on another place and time.

"Go on being vague if you want. I could fix this better if I knew exactly how it happened."

But Knock Out refused to elaborate. Eventually, Shiloh resigned herself to the fact that she wasn't going to get anything else out of him and set back to work. Less than a minute passed before she leaned back and rested her hands on her knees, an annoyed expression on her face.

Knock Out looked around her at the scratches. The blue fluid was trickling faster now, so that it was almost a steady flow. The scratches themselves looked a little better, but nowhere close to repaired. He growled something to himself about a 'self-repair system malfunction' and queried, "Can you fix it?"

Shiloh threw her hands up in exasperation before settling down. "I do detailing. Repair - that's Seth and Marc's area."

"Can you fix it?" Knock Out repeated, forcing the words out.

"Maybe." The teen took a silent inventory of her tools before adding, "Yeah. Let me work on it overnight and it'll look good as new in the morning." Knock Out looked reluctant to agree. Shiloh stood and clapped his shoulder - deliberately, mind you - with the dirtier hand, just to see him shy away. "I know what I'm doing; I'm not some amateur."

"You might as well be," the racer hissed. Something dangerous flashed in his eyes.

Shiloh ignored it. "Ten in the morning, come back and this baby'll be purring like a kitten."

"Why would I- Why would it purr like a domestic feline?"

"It's an expression. Try not to hurt your head thinking about it too hard."

* * *

By the time midnight rolled around, Shiloh's clothes were smeared with paint and a number of different substances she didn't care to name - or even _know_ the name of. The black streak on her forehead was accompanied by several others at this point. She was tired, sore, and frustrated. Not to mention there was still a good five or six hours worth of work left to do.

And maddeningly, the scratches were still there.

Shiloh stood, lacing her fingers together and putting her hands behind her head. She backed up to the wall and sat against it. Seven and a half hours. That long and she still had to finish repairing the door, apply the primer before waiting an hour to let that dry, airbrush on the paint, wait another hour for that to dry, redo the decals that had been there - luckily Shiloh had a good head for designs - let that sit, coat the whole thing in clear enamel, let _that_ air dry, coat the entire exterior in the high-gloss finish she got from the storeroom, and once that was dry, she still had to polish _and_ wax the entire thing.

Looked like she would be up all night.

The Aston Martin's engine revved, but by then, Shiloh had already dismissed the recurring sound as a figment of her imagination. She ignored it and focused on resting for a brief few minutes. The sports car's headlights flashed as if it knew she was ignoring it.

"Five minutes," she pleaded. "Impatient car, aren't you?"

Like it was replying, the Aston Martin rumbled in agreement.

"Fine." Was she actually talking to this car? Standing back up, Shiloh returned to repairing the side door. Either she wasn't as good as she believed, or the sports car's chassis wasn't aluminum. Well, she was the best auto detailer in the entire county, and this was turning out to be one of the toughest jobs she'd ever done. It _must_ have been the second option.

Shiloh grabbed the small belt sander from where she had put it down. Pulling the welding goggles down over her eyes for protection, she started it up. Sparks flew as she ran it over the damaged area. They stung her skin as they hit. Luckily, the ragged metal was soon filed down. The metal would be only slightly thinner than the rest, weaker but able to withstand just as much damage.

Muscles aching from holding up the belt sander, Shiloh wearily set the tool down and lifted the goggles. Without the metallic sheen the welding goggles added to everything, it was easy to see where the damage had been. But once everything else was done, it wouldn't even be noticable. She went to her stack of supplies and grabbed the airbrush and primer. The red sports car suddenly appeared - dare Shiloh say it? - happy. How in the world it could look that way, Shiloh had no clue, but that was the only way she could describe it.

"Let's get started, then," she said to the empty shop. For once, the Aston Martin remained silent. Shiloh yawned despite herself as she readied the equipment. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"I'm surprised, skinjob." Knock Out examined the newly repainted portion of the door. He ran his fingertips lightly over the polished surface. Curiously, no marks showed from where he touched it. "You're as good as they say."

Shiloh leaned against her Camry, which had been brought inside so as to prevent anyone from knowing she had been in the shop so late at night. "Glad not to disappoint." An empty paint can sat beside her foot; she kicked it across the shop, flinching at the noise it made when it hit the wall. Man, her head hurt. She rubbed her temples to soothe the throbbing. Chronic migraines would be the least of her worries if she didn't call Marc to let him know she was alive within ten minutes.

As Knock Out was about to leave, Shiloh called to him, "Wait. You said you could help me. What did you mean by that?"

The red-haired man's smirk grew more unsettling by the second. "Saturday night, something happened that's driving you insane. The kid who owns the Camaro," - he lingered over the word as though unsure it was right - "you must hate him for what happened." He took a moment to analyze Shiloh's reaction. It seemed to please him, so he continued, "You want revenge. But you also know that you scared him off so he's not likely to come around here anymore for a while."

"Is there a point or is this just mindless chatter?" With each word either of them said, Shiloh's head throbbed harder. Where did she put the Midren? Oh, that was right. She left it at home. Brilliant.

"I know how to find him. I _can_ help you, but you have to trust me."

Trust him? Shiloh didn't trust him nearly as far as she could dropkick his smug rear. And that wasn't very far at all.

Knock Out sensed her reluctance. "Look at the big picture. You don't know who he is, haven't seen him except for the one time, and you're naively expecting to get back at him with no clue how to find him. I, on the other hand, know exactly who he is, have met him countless times before, and know how to get him out in the open." He opened the driver's side door, tossing a small device with a screen on it her way as he did so. "Think about it. Call me when you've seen sense."

While he was leaving, Shiloh sank to the ground, unable to tolerate the pain any longer. Black spots entered her field of vision. She stared outside through the open garage door, suddenly aware of a green vehicle across the street. It was idling, and through the tinted windows, Shiloh couldn't make out the outline of any driver.

_Gonna run down the battery real quick that way,_ she couldn't help but think. Pain stabbed the left side of her head with the thought. She put her hands over her ears to block the minute noises - made ten times louder by the headache - coming from outside.

The vehicle's rear-view mirror moved to afford it a better look at the teen, but luckily she couldn't have been more oblivious at the moment. Its headlights flashed briefly before it drove away, still driverless.

Shiloh reached for her cell phone from where she put it on top of her car, hitting the four key followed by enter. "Lily," she said when her friend picked up, jaw clenched tightly. "Yeah, migraine." Her head felt like it was going to explode. "At home." The black spots grew more numerous. "Can we discuss how big of an idiot I am later?" The throbbing finally stopped, but her stomach flipped. This migraine was serious. "Thanks." A car alarm went off a block or two away. Shiloh pressed the heel of her free hand to her forehead. The pain lessened slightly. "Alright, I will. Bye."

She ended the call, squinting at the keypad and delaying hitting the one key. It would be more painful calling Marc to explain where she'd been all night than this.

* * *

Bulkhead rolled off, a certain heaviness to his spark that he couldn't quite explain. He commed base. Arcee picked up. "Just went by the girl's workplace. 'Bee was right; Knock Out's interested in her for some reason."

Arcee scoffed at his statement. "What would a 'con want with a human?"

Bulkhead passed the high school on his way out of town. Out of habit, he wondered what trouble Miko was getting herself into today. "Don't know for sure," he replied. "But you can bet it's nothin' good."

"Since when do Decepticons do _anything_ good? Is that all you found out, or is there something acutally important you're not mentioning?"

The Wrecker put his figurative - in this mode, at least - servos up in defense. "Chill, 'Cee. Found out that Knock Out is planning some sort of revenge for what happened to the girl's brother-"

"Cousin," Arcee corrected.

"Right, cousin." Bulkhead felt apprehension gnaw at his internals. Whatever was going on, it was bad news for Team Prime. "And 'Bee's the target."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: So, after all this time with no updates, I finally get to one. This particular chapter is a little uneventful for my taste, though. **

**EDIT: Chapters 1-5 are in the process of being revised. Only chapter one has been revised sufficently. Same premises and plot, but they have been edited to better meet my standards.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Transformers, Breakdown would still be alive and our fabulous medic would never have been run over by a train. Or gotten stuck in a wall. Or have had anything else bad happen to him. Alas, poor Patchy is dead, and Knock Out (his paint job/pride, at least) has suffered.**

* * *

"You are _so_ lucky my only class today isn't until two." Lily pressed the bottle of pills into Shiloh's hand. "Or else you'd have to fix this mess on your own." She grabbed her friend's arm, yanking her to her feet. "Get in the car."

"I can drive myself," Shiloh hissed, her eyes still squeezed shut in pain.

Lily looked around the shop. "Where's the break room?" Shiloh pointed to the right. When Lily returned, she had a glass of water in her hand, which she offered to Shiloh. The other girl peeked at it, and realizing what it was, shook her head. "It's not gonna hurt you. How else are you supposed to take the medicine?"

"No. I won't drink it." Shiloh started trembling, backing away.

"Oh, come on, you're Hawaiian, Shy. You grew up on an island. How can you be afraid of water?" Lily teasingly shoved the glass in her friend's face. Shiloh shrank back. "Now drink it or it gets dumped on your head." Shaking, Shiloh took the medicine and downed the cup of water. Her expression indicated she wanted to kill her friend. Lily helped her friend into her car, then got in the driver's seat. "Why aren't you in school?"

Shiloh was covering her ears. "Working."

"Huh. Nothing to do with Sierra and her posse being total-"

"A'ole, Lily. I was working on that Aston Martin last night."

Driving out of the shop, Lily considered Shiloh's immediate denial. "So you don't know."

"Know what?" Shiloh looked sideways at Lily.

Lily suddenly wished she'd kept her mouth shut. She focused on the road. "We going to the school or the hospital?" Shiloh shook her head at the first option, so Lily changed directions. "You know you're not going to graduate if you keep missing school like this, right?"

"I know. Just drop me off at the hospital." Shiloh steadily felt the pain in her head calm to a barely noticable throb. She thought about the green vehicle she'd seen across the street from the shop earlier. There had been something familiar about it... Of course! It was the same vehicle that picked up the Japanese Exchange Student every day after school. How could she not have noticed that? "Remember the Exchange Student, the one with the pink hair and weird style?" Lily nodded as she drove. "Have you seen the green vehicle that picks her up?" Lily nodded again. "I saw it this morning. No driver."

Lily glanced at her. "The driver was probably somewhere else."

"The engine was idling," Shiloh added. Lily dismissed this too, saying the driver probably just forgot to turn off the engine. "But think about it. Have you ever seen that car with a driver?" Lily didn't answer this time. "And Darby's bike - somehow it arrives at his work right before the end of his shift even though he walks there every time."

Lily smacked the wheel with one hand, her eyes lighting up. "The Camaro! It's the same one that the little computer genius gets picked up in after school every day. But Saturday was the only night I've ever seen it with a driver."

"'Little computer genius'? Oh, you mean Rafael, the kid Vince messes with all the time." Shiloh looked out the window. "Anyway, yeah, I noticed that too. And isn't it weird that they all showed in Jasper up at the exact same time? Like they have a mind of their own or something."

"I'm going with 'or something,'" Lily said, pulling up at the hospital doors. "But I'll spark them and see where they head off to for you, and also because I really want to know now." She knew spark wasn't a word supposed to be used like that in Jasper, but if you hung out with Hawaiians, you were bound to pick up some of their slang.

Shiloh got out of the car. "Mahalo, Lily. Call me tonight so we can talk." She headed inside and stopped at the front desk. "Shiloh Winters," she said flatly when asked her name. "Here to see my cousin, Seth Winters."

The nurse behind the desk peered at her through too-small glasses. "Seth is in bad condition and is allowed to be visited by immediate family members only."

Shiloh leaned on the desk, her hands clenched into tight fists. She had had this exact same conversation at one in the morning on Sunday, and wasn't about to go through it again. "I've lived with him since I was twelve; we're practically siblings. You _really_ don't want to tell me I can't see him."

"I'm sorry, Miss Winters, but rules are rules."

"And rules can be bent." Another nurse approached. She had black hair pulled into a ponytail, blue eyes, and a friendly smile. "Shiloh, follow me, if you would."

"Mahalo, Miss- Nurse Darby." Shiloh read the name tag pinned to the second nurse's scrubs. She tried to smile at the nurse behind the desk, but could only manage a mocking smirk. "Are you Jack's mom?" she asked as they headed toward the elevator.

"Yes, I am." June pressed the button for the elevator. Once it arrived, she pressed the one for the third floor. "I've been hearing quite a bit about you and your cousin from him lately."

That surprised Shiloh. "I would've thought he couldn't care less."

June gave a tight, dry laugh. "He's different than most people think." The elevator doors slid open, and they headed down the hallway. "Everyone here is very sorry about what happened to Seth."

Shiloh stared at the tile floor as she walked. "The doctor didn't splint his wrists, but he told us they were fractured." June started, mildly surprised herself. "He doesn't think Seth'll recover, does he?"

"No," June admitted. Truth be told, she wasn't sure he would either. It had been a bad crash. "Even so, his wrists should be immobilized. I'll have that fixed right away."

They arrived at Seth's room. Shiloh thanked the nurse once more, and June nodded before heading off.

Shiloh opened the door; she stopped at what she saw. Inside, Marc was discussing something with a man who had the look of someone military or government. She dismissed the first option. Even if he was military, it had to have been some years since he'd been in the field. He wasn't exactly fit. She shut the door loudly to get their attention. Both her uncle and the other man turned in her direction.

"Special Agent William Fowler," said the man. He extended his hand. "You must be Shiloh." So he was government. Shiloh warily shook his hand, nodding. What was he doing here? "As I was discussing with your uncle, the crash that occurred last Saturday was a terrible accident and the police are working to shut down the illegal street racing club."

Shiloh finally found her voice. "You can't shut down the Circuit!" she objected. Marc sternly motioned for her to keep quiet, and Fowler looked at her questioningly. "We need it. It makes us feel alive." She wasn't just talking about herself and Seth, or even them and Vince and Lily. She was talking about the entire Circuit, no matter if they were veteran or rookie. "No, it _is_ our life."

Fowler appeared to become irritated. "Miss, more than fifty people have died trying to win those races since this 'Circuit' was founded twenty years ago. Hundreds more have been crippled and put in hospitals. How can you ask me to let it continue going on if more people - just like Seth - are going to get hurt and possibly killed in accidents?"

"It wasn't an accident," Shiloh growled, stepping forward brazenly. "Seth was rammed from the side - which, if you knew anything about the Circuit, you would know is illegal - and spun out into a mesa. His car is totaled, he may not live, and if he does, he won't be able to walk. This is a shock for everyone, not just the government. You can't take away the Circuit, because if you do, you're going to have a huge riot on your hands, and not just from the racers. Crime is gonna skyrocket without the Circuit there to let the tension off."

Fowler grabbed her wrist, in the same spot, with the same iron grip Knock Out had not two days ago. The similarity was chilling. "The Circuit has already been broken down, its organizers arrested. All that remains is to break up what little groups of street racers remain." He took a breath, released Shiloh's wrist, and took a step back. "What I'm really here to tell you is that I'm sorry for Seth's injuries and that it was indeed an accident. Our undercover operative did not intend to injure your cousin. He was merely going after a criminal."

Shiloh closed her eyes, processing this new information. "This doesn't change anything," she said. She opened her eyes. "I don't care if your 'operative' didn't mean to do it; it still happened, and nothing can change that. I won't let it go, and I won't forget. Get out."

Fowler glanced back at Marc, who nodded, his arms crossed. The two of them left to finish their discussion.

Shiloh sat in the chair next to Seth's bed and laid her warm hand on top of his cold one. "You're gonna be alright," she promised, laying her head down on her arm. She felt her eyes start to sting with tears. "I'll make it right."

With her other hand, she fished in her pocket for her cousin's knife, which she'd taken from the wreckage of his Grand Am so the police wouldn't find it. She moved her hand and placed the knife under his. Seth's fingers curled reflexively around it.

Shiloh grasped his hand again, crying freely into the hospital bed's sheets. "I'll make it right," she repeated through sobs. "No matter what."

* * *

**Translations:**

**A'ole - No.**

**Spark - Check out.**

**Mahalo - Thank you.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Nothing has changed since last chapter. Breakdown is still dead and Knock Out was still run over by a train... twice. So I obviously do not own Transformers.**

* * *

Fowler entered the Autobot base with a more pronounced scowl than usual. His footsteps caused Ratchet to turn in his direction. "How did it go?" he asked.

"Terrible," Fowler answered shortly. "She's not exactly the most understanding person I've met."

"I take it she didn't buy your explanation." Ratchet glanced in Bumblebee's direction; the scout hadn't left base since the accident, and he was starting to grow restless.

Fowler, too, cast a look at Bumblebee. His was between anger and pity. However unintentional, Bumblebee was causing problems for both him and the government in general. "Her uncle did; she told me it didn't change anything." He sighed. Now what? The Autobot's cover wasn't in jeopardy, but he was forced to involve himself in matters the local law enforcement should have taken care of years ago.

Ratchet scoffed. Humans were the strangest creatures he had ever met - their lifespans were ridiculously short, yet some of them refused to let go. He made a note in his personal database.

Another point where humans were similar to Cybertronians. The list was beginning to grow to a point where it became alarming.

* * *

Shiloh wasn't paying attention when Marc reentered the room. She had stopped crying just a few minutes before and now was murmuring quietly to Seth in Hawaiian.

"He's lucky to have a cousin like you," Marc remarked, laying a hand on her shoulder. "It's been hard enough for him since his mom left, but having you around made him who he is now."

Shiloh looked up at him, her eyes still red from crying. "I wish he'd wake up," she said. "I just want to- I wanna hear him tell me to stop moping or something. Anything, really." She was painfully aware of the coldness of Seth's skin, even when it had been under her hand for so long. _I can't make it without you,_ she thought. _So wake up already, __lauoho polû._

"I know the feeling." Marc gave her shoulder a squeeze and let go. He sat in the other chair. "Agent Fowler was right to shut down the Circuit. Too many people have died and gotten hurt. I used to race it too, Shiloh, so don't tell me I don't know how you feel. But only now does it hit home."

Shiloh let go of Seth's hand and pulled her knees up to her chest. "I'm not racing again," she whispered. "I can't even look at him without thinking maybe it's my fault for dragging him to the Circuit in the first place."

Marc was surprised. "But you love to race."

"Like you said, Uncle Marc, only now does it hit home." Her voice broke as she uttered the words. She pressed her lips together, fighting back tears. Marc grabbed her in a tight embrace.

"You can't change the past, Shiloh, no matter how much you want to. But you can choose how you'll let it affect your future."

"You're right," Shiloh said. The problem was, she had already chosen. Now, she could never go back on that choice.

* * *

Knock Out delicately welded the Vehicon's leaking fuel line closed, wondering when he would be finished so he could go out and race. He absently glanced across at Breakdown, who was attending to Vehicons with less pressing injuries. Suddenly, his patient gave an exclamation of pain. Knock Out looked back down. In his slip of focus, he had let the welder come into contact with the sensitive circuitry surrounding the fuel line. He quickly remedied the error and returned to patching up the wound.

"There," he said eventually. "All fixed up." The Vehicon nodded his thanks and left the medical bay.

Knock Out glanced at Breakdown again. His partner noticed the silent query. "I've got it handled here," he confirmed gruffly.

The crimson mech smiled and ran his digits across Breakdown's shoulder as he passed him on his way out. His commlink signaled a message. He opened the connection. "Took you long enough to call."

::Smug as ever. I thought about what you said, and... yeah, I guess I do need help.::

Knock Out felt a small thrill in his circuits. His plan was actually working. "Smart girl," he purred.

::Don't get ahead of yourself, Knock Out. I'm only agreeing to talk for now. Think you can meet me in the park sometime?::

Considering he was already heading out... "How's an hour from now?" Knock Out accessed an ariel map of Jasper and focused on the park. "The fountain."

::Uh... k'den. The f-fountain.::

Why would the human sound nervous all of a sudden? "Great. I have to go."

::See ya there.::

The connection ended.

Before he headed to the GroundBridge Control Room, Knock Out went to his personal quarters, which he shared with Breakdown. Once there, he picked up a datapad - one of many he kept in his quarters - and scrolled through the notes. Upon reaching the end, he picked up a stylus and scrawled a few more notes on the datapad.

A malicious gleam lit Knock Out's optics.

This was going to be _fun._

* * *

Seated upside-down on the park bench, her feet dangling over the top and her head hanging over the edge, Shiloh glared at the nearby fountain. The stupid thing was practically _mocking_ her. It was an elegant fountain, though, she had to admit, with arches made of quartz that caught the light just so and mirrored parts that reflected the water's surface. In fact, had it not been on at the moment, Shiloh might have dared to go closer to it.

But it was the water that fell in sparkling droplets through the air and splashed into the pool at the fountain's base that kept her away. Shiloh hated water. It terrified her to no end. Only once had she ever set foot willingly in water, and that had ended up terribly; a kaiko had pulled her under.

"What an interesting position," quipped a familiar voice. The bench creaked as someone sat down next to her.

"Hm?" Shiloh corrected her orientation and looked at the man. "Oh. A-aloha, Knock Out," she said, startled.

Knock Out laid one arm across the back of the bench, leaning against the cold metal. He examined his nails. "I said I'd be here in an hour. It's an hour. Don't look so surprised, sweetspark."

Shiloh frowned. Did he know the meaning of the word humility? "I'm not your sweetspark, whatever that means. We here for a reason or not?"

"You really shouldn't scowl so much. It ruins your pretty face." Knock Out didn't bother looking at her.

This guy was just begging to be smacked. Or punched. Or maybe both. Fortunately for him, Shiloh knew to control herself, especially since he was her only shot at getting back at the driver of the Camaro. Shiloh threw her head back, exasperated. "And you're not even listening to me, are you?"

Knock Out stopped examining his nails and turned to face her. "I am listening," he argued. "I was just giving a piece of advice."

Shiloh met his gaze. "Then what did I say before?"

"You were saying you weren't my sweetspark, which doesn't particularly bother me because I can just go back to calling you femmeling."

Miffed that her complaint had been shot down, Shiloh returned to glaring at the fountain the way she had been before Knock Out arrived. Although she was a good distance from the fountain, she flinched every time at the small splash the water droplets made as they hit the pool below.

Noticing the odd action and the direction of the girl's glare, Knock Out pieced together a rough idea of what was going on. "You have something against that fountain?" he asked innocently.

"No, I like the fountain," Shiloh stammered, gripping the arm of the bench as yet another droplet fell.

"Why don't we go sit by it, then?" Knock Out grabbed her free hand, with a much softer grip than when he had grabbed her wrist two days ago, and pulled her towards the fountain. Reluctantly, she let him lead her right next to it. Knock Out sat on the edge of the pool's rim, patting the stone to his left. His smirk seemed to ask if she was scared.

There was no way she would let him think she was afraid - even if she really was. Trembling, Shiloh sat on the stone, laying her hand in the water that had splashed on it. Her hands clenched involuntarily and her heart hammered away at her rib cage. The tremors grew worse when some of the water hit her back.

"Scared of a little water, are we?" Knock Out teased. He hadn't let go of her hand.

"I left my jacket in the hospital, Pretty Boy, so you can-"

"Shiloh?" Vince emerged from the path leading up to the fountain, which was mostly obscured by trees. "You- you're actually sitting on the fountain! And you're getting wet!" His gaze fell on Knock Out - or more specifically, on Knock Out's hand. "Who the hell is that?" he demanded, his earlier smile darkening.

"Not scared of water, femmeling?" Knock Out leaned close, letting go of Shiloh's hand and cupping her chin. "Your _friend_ seems to say otherwise."

Shiloh stood angrily and pulled away from him. "You," - she pointed to Knock Out - "shut up!" Now Knock Out rose, his teasing expression replaced with one of fury. "And Vince, you shouldn't have said something."

Vince looked taken aback. "Shy, I'm sorry," he said.

Shiloh crossed her arms, turning away from her friend. "Just go, Vince," she said in a quiet voice, her head bowed. "Please."

Vince left the way he came.

Knock Out moved so he was in front of the girl. "Enough with the pleasantries, already. I have one question for you, since neither of us obviously have time for more than that." He cupped her chin again, forcing her to look at him. "What are you willing to do to get revenge?"

Shiloh thought back to Seth, lying unconscious in a hospital bed hooked up to a multitude of machines and wires. Her face hardened, and she forgot all about the water soaking into her shirt and the encounter with Vince. "Anything."

"Would you leave Jasper?"

* * *

**Translations:**

**Lauoho polû - Blue hair. (Here used as a nickname for Seth)**

**K'den - "Okay then." - or - "Agreed."**

**Kaiko - Strong current.**

**Aloha - Hello.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Transformers, however much I wish I did.**

* * *

Shiloh ran around the corner, dodging a nurse carrying a stack of papers. Her eyes were bright, a smile on her lips for the first time in days. She slipped on the slick tile of the hospital floor but quickly regained her balance. Finally reaching her destination, she grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open.

Inside, Marc was sitting next to the hospital bed, grinning from ear to ear. And next to him...

"Seth!" Shiloh yelled happily, throwing herself at her cousin. He smiled weakly in reply as she squeezed the breath from his lungs.

"Go easy on him, Shy," Marc cautioned, prying her off of Seth. "He only woke up a half-hour ago."

Seth lifted his right hand - splinted, as was his left hand, thanks to Nurse Darby's efforts - and touched Shiloh's upper arm. "Hey." Shiloh suddenly grabbed the front of his hospital gown and pulled him into a half-sitting up position.

Shiloh leaned in so their forheads touched. "You ever scare me like that again - so help me - I will kill you." She took a shaking breath, not letting go of him.

Marc knew he shouldn't get involved with this; affection from Shiloh usually came in the form of death threats and bruises. However, Seth was still in pretty bad shape. He rose and separated the two.

"Seriously, though. I will kill you, lauoho polû." Shiloh sat in the empty chair. Her smile returned.

Seth made a sound that might have been a laugh. "It's not blue anymore, see?" he rasped, pointing unsteadily to his hair. He was right. The parts of his hair that had been blue earlier were the same color as the rest. He dropped his hand. "I'm sorry I scared you." He flexed his fingers. Shiloh understood the action and placed his switchblade in his hand. Seth smiled a thank you and flipped out the blade. A heavy sigh of relief escaped him.

Marc observed silently from his seat. As glad as he was now that his son was awake, he could sense something off about the room's atmosphere. There was something someone wasn't saying. But he wouldn't press. _Good things come to those who wait,_ he mused.

Shiloh leaned on the bed, burying her face in the sheets next to her cousin's arm. "I don't know if I should hug you 'cause you're okay or punch you 'cause you made me worry."

Deliberately being over-dramatic, Seth groaned. "Don't think I can take another hug. You almost crushed what good ribs I have left." He used the very tip of his switchblade to tickle Shiloh's ear. They both laughed. "I won more races than you did," he teased, changing the subject. He ran the tip of the blade along the back of Shiloh's neck. He wasn't trying to hurt her, just messing around like siblings do. It felt so good to be playing with his knife again.

"No aak!" Shiloh shrieked. She sat bolt upright and swatted at his hand. "And you're lolo if you think you won more races than me." Despite her tone, there was no irritation evident on her face. She turned her attention back to her mental dilemma. "Your choice: do I hug you or punch you?"

"Hug me now; punch me later." Seth had already resigned himself to the fact that even if he chosen only the former, he would get punched. "But I'll return the favor as soon as I'm back on my feet."

The room went dead silent. Marc looked out the window and pretended he wasn't paying attention. Shiloh's smile faded away and her gaze dropped to the floor.

Seth blinked. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't want to tell him," Marc explained, with a glance at his niece.

Shiloh swallowed, bringing a hand up to wipe her eyes. "Seth, your spine is broken. In two places." She couldn't find the words to go on.

But she'd already said enough.

A light thunk echoed in the room. Seth stared blankly at his cousin and his dad, the fingers of his right hand curled around an invisible object. "No," he said. "No, they got it wrong. The doctors got it wrong!" The machine monitoring his heart rate started to give off warning beeps. "They have to be wrong!" The machine beeped faster, sending out an alert to the technicians and nurses outside.

Shiloh could only watch as several nurses came in and sedated Seth. Once he was asleep, she pulled her feet up onto the chair. She held his hand, trying to justify to herself what she was planning to do.

How could she even think of leaving him?

* * *

Seth could tell something was bothering her. Marc had told him that she hadn't slept or eaten much since the accident. Both of them knew this only happened when she was deeply upset or when something went horribly wrong.

Shiloh whimpered in her sleep, gripping the sheets. Seth wished he could hug her, but the doctor had told him to stay as still as possible so as not to injure himself any more. He contented himself with a quiet, "Everything's alright," as he tangled his fingers in her hair. She relaxed a little but. Seth had seen that something was tearing her apart on the inside though she tried so hard to hide it. The signs were all too obvious: the broken look in her eyes even while she smiled; the desperation in her voice as she threatened to kill him; the way she'd clung to his hand like it was the only thing keeping her alive; and most importantly, the guarded expression she'd had when Marc asked where she was earlier that day.

Seth tightened his grip around the switchblade in his other hand. It wasn't fair. He was the one with a broken spine who would never walk again. He was the one the doctors had said wouldn't last more than another year. He was the one who lost what he loved almost as much as his family.

And yet _she_ was the one suffering.

Another whimper escaped Shiloh, prompting Seth to gently shake her conscious. Barely lifting her head, she gazed at him with that same broken look. "It was only a dream. Nothing is going to hurt you while you're near me. I'll still protect you, even from your own nightmares."

"I'm afraid I'll lose you," Shiloh whispered. She took his hand in one of hers, gripping it in the same way as she had earlier. "I'm afraid I'll lose you because of what I'm going to do."

"You can tell me anything," Seth prompted.

"I can't- I can't tell you this. It would hurt you too much."

Seth squeezed her hand as he noticed the desperation creeping back into her voice. She was slipping. It was only a matter of time before she fell. And if that was the case, he'd hold on to her for as long as he could. "Then promise me something."

Shiloh leaned her cheek against their entwined hands. She sighed. "If I can do it, I will. You know that."

"No matter what happens to me, no matter how bad things get, promise me you'll let go," Seth pleaded. He released her hand and tilted her chin up so she was looking straight at him. "Just promise me you'll let it go. It could've happened to anyone."

"But it happened to _you,"_ Shiloh objected.

Seth pressed two fingers to her lips, cutting the rest of her reply off. "I know. But don't let this ruin your life, please. Forgive him for what he did." The pained expression she was giving him nearly made him choke on the next words. "I'm begging you, Shy. I don't want this to take you away from me."

"You had to ask that, didn't you?" Shiloh moved his fingers away. "You had to ask me to do the one thing I can't." She buried her face in the sheets again, ignoring Seth's comforting touch. "I can't do that. It hit too close to home for me to just let it go. You mean too much." The last sentence was barely audible, dissolving into slow, steady breaths.

"Hiamoe maika'i," Seth whispered as she began to fall back asleep. A tired smile touched his face, and he settled his hand on hers, his eyes slipping shut. "Like I said, I won't let anything hurt you while you're near me."

* * *

Knock Out finished transcribing the last of his notes onto the datapad. He set it down on the edge of his berth, mulling over his last meeting with the human. She was visibly more strained than when he'd allowed her to repair the scratches on his door. And he hadn't missed the hesitation before she told him she'd be willing to do anything.

The more time Knock Out spent around her, the more weaknesses he could pin down and exploit. Today he had learned she was afraid of water, though she comically denied the fear. He had also learned that she was beginning to draw away from the other humans, such as Vince.

What remained to be seen was if she would cave the way Knock Out expected her to. If she didn't, then there was no further reason for him to continue meeting with her.

A pity, really. Knock Out had a bad habit of breaking his toys once he tired of playing with them.

* * *

**Translations:**

**Lauoho polû - Blue hair. (Here used as a nickname for Seth)**

**No aak - "Quit showing off!"**

**Lolo - dumb, stupid, idiotic.**

**Hiamoe maika'i - "Sleep well."**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Frag. My. Life. Yes, I am back. At least until my parents confiscate my computer (though extremely unlikely, it might happen). No, I am in no way happy about it. I left in the first place so I could reevaluate my writing style and hopefully turn out better for it, in the wake of what has happened.**

**Coming back at both the objections of my readers and the relentless encouragement of my wonderful co-author on Prime: the Beast Saga, bravekid (I promise I will send you the preview this weekend), I find that nothing has changed. That is why the 'Frag. My. Life.' is there - my writing style does not understand that I wanted it to change and has remained the way it was.**

**... But, on a brighter note, I was struck by a touch of inspiration from Dream'sRealm while writing this chapter. On _Across This New Divide,_ she puts a Bible verse at the end of every chapter. I found myself fascinated with it. So, to do something similar, I'm going to leave a few lines from my favorite Christian songs at the beginning of each chapter, regardless of which story it is.**

What will people think when they hear that I'm a Jesus Freak?

What will people do when they find that it's true?

I don't really care if they label me a Jesus Freak

There ain't no disguising the truth.

- DC Talk, 'Jesus Freak'

**Disclaimer: I regret to inform you that I still do not own Transformers.**

* * *

Shiloh picked up the old photograph on the nightstand and stood there for a moment, staring at it. She wasn't really sure what she should be feeling. The photograph was a little over seventeen years old; it had been taken a few months before her parents were arrested. Shiloh only remembered bits and pieces of living with her parents, but she'd never given it much thought. After all, she had the rest of her family. "I wonder what you'd have to say about what's going on," she thought aloud. She quickly laughed at the absurdness of the statement. Why should she care? She hardly knew them. The photograph was placed in its original position, upside-down on the nightstand.

Shiloh searched her room for her backpack. It had to be in here _somewhere..._ Ah, there it was! Next to the window for some strange reason. Shiloh retrieved it, removing all the school-related items from its interior. Textbooks and binders were carelessly thrown to the floor, their pages ripping and bending. At the very bottom was the hand-held communicator Knock Out had given her.

A glance at the clock on the far wall told her she had found it just in time. On cue, the device began to vibrate. Fumbling with the switch, Shiloh answered the call. She greeted the speaker with a curt, "Hello," instead of her traditional "Aloha".

::My, my, someone's in a bad mood today. Care to tell me why?::

Shiloh bit back the irritated sigh rising in her throat. She had plenty of time later to contemplate all the different ways to deal blows to Knock Out's ego. Or at least get him to drop the sarcastic tone. "There are more important things to discuss at this exact moment."

::Very well, but it would be better to discuss them in private. You never know who's listening when you're not speaking face-to-face.::

Shiloh held the communicator in one hand and re-packed her backpack with the other. "Point taken. I'd tell you to meet me in the park in a little while, but Vince found out last time... Plus, I have school."

::That does pose a problem. However, I had a different meeting place in mind.:: Knock Out actually sounded thoughtful for once.

"Where?"

::Somewhere secluded, where there is no chance of anyone accidentally stumbling on our conversation.::

This time Shiloh let the sigh escape. "'M really not in the mood for vague answers," she cautioned.

::Mile marker 18 heading South out of Jasper. Be there at four.::

Concise, short, and to the point. Shiloh might have liked Knock Out better if he always talked like that. "I'll be there."

* * *

Gym was Shiloh's favorite class. With the specific course she'd chosen, she got to let out her frustration on the sandbags every other class period. Lily was in the class, so that made it twice as great. The only downside was that the Exchange Student - her name was either Miku or Miko; Shiloh could never remember - had also signed up for the course.

Today was an off-day, as the coach, Ms. Jennings, called them. This meant the entire class was held outside. They didn't do any cardio or weights on off-days. Everyone relaxed for the most part, sometimes opting to do a lap around the track just for the sake of it. Others would play with the sports equipment Ms. Jennings brought out with them.

"Vince told me about yesterday," Lily commented, tossing a basketball at Shiloh.

The other girl caught it and tossed it back. "Mm. What'd he tell you?"

"He told me he saw you hanging in the park with one of the racers - the Aston Martin's driver, I believe." The pattern of tossing the basketball back and forth continued until it became monotonous. Shiloh still hadn't replied when Lily at last dropped the ball, stepping on it to prevent it from rolling away. "Vince was worried when he came to talk to me. Said you told him to leave."

"It wasn't the best time for him to burst in," Shiloh said truthfully. She held her hands out for the ball. Her fingers were starting to itch at the accusations, however simple and innocent they were. Lily sighed and threw her the basketball. "He misunderstood what was going on. We were just talking; nothing else."

Lily suddenly looked away, wringing her hands together. "Of course," she agreed. "Vince was stupid to believe otherwise. Um, listen, Shy, there's something Vince and I have been meaning to tell you."

Shiloh tossed the basketball up in the air and caught it. The action prevented her hands from wandering to the switchblade in her back pocket as they so often did when she was uncomfortable. "What's that?"

"Remember Trey and Keith?"

"From the Circuit? Yeah, they're pretty cool guys."

Lily cautiously met her friend's gaze again and replied flatly, "They got arrested right after we left Saturday night. Nobody ever told us they were the ones in charge of the entire Circuit, but somehow the cops knew."

Fowler had mentioned the organizers being arrested, but Shiloh had never imagined he meant Trey and Keith. "They're really in jail?"

"Yep. Scheduled to be in court in a more major city shortly." Lily looked away again. Her attitude served to set Shiloh more on edge. She blurted out, "I'm worried you're going to do something stupid, Shiloh! I know how much Seth means to you, but is it really worth-"

Her outburst was cut off by a sudden pressure on her throat. Shiloh's dark eyes burned into Lily's lighter ones. The basketball bounced where Shiloh had dropped it on the other side of the court. Lily swallowed, her breath turning shallow.

The shadow clouding Shiloh's face passed and she saw the switchblade in her hand. Her hand jerked away abruptly. She turned, running towards the far side of the court. A sharp tap on her shoulder made her freeze.

"You just pulled a knife on your friend."

Shiloh whirled around to see the Exchange Student standing with her arms crossed. She dropped her voice to barely above a whisper. "You want to see it again? I'd be delighted to oblige."

Miko backed off a step. She waited for a second to see if the senior's dark smile would fade, and then returned to where most of the class was clustered around Lily.

"Are you okay?"

"She didn't hurt you, right?"

Numerous questions of this nature assailed the blonde racer, each punctuated with a comforting touch on the shoulder or arm. Lily stood, her hand on her throat where the blade had been pressed not a full minute ago, staring after her friend. Suddenly her expression cleared and she shoved her classmates away from her. "Nobody breathes a word of this to anyone, understand?" she ordered. "Or I will _personally_ break your arm." Everyone nodded, albeit hesitantly. Thankfully Mrs. Jennings was on the complete opposite side of the field and had seen nothing. "I have to find Vince." She met the eyes of each of the other students in turn to be sure they really wouldn't say anything before walking off in the direction of the school building.

* * *

Shiloh slammed her car door shut, not even bothering to buckle herself in. There was still another full period left in the school day, but there was no way she'd be able to take the questioning glances from Lily and the angry glares from the other students. The only way she could avoid that was to ditch the rest of school. She crossed her arms over the wheel and threw her head down on them. "What the hell was I thinking? I'm sorry, Lily. I'm so sorry."

Having nowhere else to go that someone wouldn't think to look for her at, she left for the designated meeting place with Knock Out.

_Mile marker 18,_ she thought absently as she drove. _Easily the most beautiful place in the desert when the sun goes down._ And she, of all people, would know. She liked sunsets, and often left town to watch them - a habit from living most of her life in Hawaii. Though it was true that not many cars went down the route that took them past mile marker 18, it was still strange of Knock Out to decide to meet there.

She was so caught up in thought that she had to stomp on the brakes to avoid running past the marker.

A string of curses and another slamming of her head on the wheel. "Damn it, Lily, I'm sorry." She couldn't get the image of the glinting blade pressed against her best friend's neck out of her head, no matter how hard she tried.

It was terrifying, almost slitting your friend's throat and being completely unaware of it until the last second.

Worse was the fact that she hadn't felt any guilt until five minutes later.

Shiloh parked her car right off the road and pulled out her cell phone. She scrolled through her contacts until she found Lily's name.

'I don't know what I was thinking back there. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Lily.'

After the barest pause, she sent the text.

Not a minute later came the reply, 'I know you didn't mean to. Be careful of that racer. Please.'

Shiloh had no idea how to reply, and instead snapped the phone shut, slid it into her back pocket with the switchblade - she recoiled upon touching it, remembering how it had been used earlier that day - and settled down to wait until four.

* * *

"Morning," trilled Knock Out after he had arrived and exited his car.

Having seen him coming, Shiloh was already leaning against her own car. "It's the middle of the afternoon," she corrected none too gently.

"Afternoon, then," Knock Out said, completely unabashed. He smiled in a way that would have made any typical girl melt. "You do realize that without fail you always manage to scowl when I arrive." His footfalls curiously kicked up no sand whatsoever as he approached. "I find it rather amusing... and somewhat cute."

"What is it with you and tangents?"

"What is it with you and refusing to smile?"

Sighing in defeat, Shiloh met him halfway between the two cars. "I'll drop the subject if you do."

Knock Out extended his hand, but the gesture was ignored. The corners of his lips twitched slightly - and not in amusement. He retracted his hand. "Fair enough deal." His eyes narrowed a fraction. "Before we start to discuss the matter at hand, I need to know: do you trust me?"

"I don't know." It was as close to the truth as Shiloh could get without being insulting. "If I _can_ trust you, I mean."

Lurching forward, Knock Out slipped one hand around to the back of her neck while the other held the front of her shirt. He leaned in so his mouth was right next to her ear. "I'm your only chance, we both know that," he hissed. "You can do _nothing_ for your cousin without me. So I'll ask one more time, and I want the honest answer. Do you trust me?"

"Yes... I trust you," Shiloh replied breathlessly. Unease had started to build in the pit of her stomach. There was something off about this whole situation, but she couldn't pin it down.

"Very good," Knock Out praised, his voice a smooth purr. "Now, if you promise not to ask questions or freak out, there's something I need to show you." When there was no reply, he leaned a little bit closer and prompted, "Promise." Forced into such close proximity with the older racer, and her voice held captive in the back of her throat, Shiloh could do nothing more than nod mutely into Knock Out's shoulder. "Wise choice."

Shiloh felt the pressure on the back of her neck and hand gripping her shirt vanish. No, it was not only the hands that vanished, but their owner, as well. Knock Out had literally dissolved into thin air. "The hell..." she muttered, her voice breaking free. She looked over to make sure the Aston Martin had not disappeared, too. It was still there. "What in Milu's name just happened?!"

"Ah-ah, I thought I told you, no questions." The voice - Knock Out's voice, Shiloh amended - emanated from the sports car.

Shiloh almost tripped over nothing as she took a hasty step backwards. "But that's imp-"

"No," came Knock Out's voice again, firmer this time. "You promised not to freak out or ask questions. Now, stay silent and be a good human."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a-"

"No. Be quiet."

The Aston Martin's exterior began to shift, dividing into plates and rearranging themselves in a twisted sort of pattern. Next the internals of the sports car shifted in sections with them. Finally a humanoid figure emerged from the shifting mass of parts, crimson red and gleaming in the sunlight.

It was at least thirty feet tall.

Shiloh backed up, tripping over her own shoes, until she was pressed against the side of her car. The color had drained from her skin, leaving it with a sickly pallor. "The hell..." she repeated. "Hana ma'alela. It's got to be, because this is not happening. There is no way this is happening. Dear gods, hana ma'aela."

The robot bore more than a passing resemblance to Knock Out, in fact, were she to have been completely coherent, Shiloh would have said their features were identical. Now, one of the robot's eyebrows was raised and its mouth turned downwards in a confused frown. "What?"

"Hana ma'aela. I had to have crashed or something on the way here. This is not happening."

"Be quiet and explain what that means!" The robot appeared agitated now.

"Hana ma'alea?" Shiloh shakily looked up at it, amazed by its deep red optics but afraid to show it. "It- it means trick."

The robot chuckled and knelt so that they were able to see each other better. "I assure you, human, that I am no trick." He proffered one of his massive servos for her to touch, and touch it she did. Dismay mingled with curiosity touched her face. "You already know me, in fact."

"Oh, dear gods, no. No, no, no, no, no." It began to dawn on Shiloh, but unfortunately, she did not like the implications. This _could not be_ Knock Out. It _couldn't._ But the voices were the same, the manner was the same, the expression was the same, the robot had even formed itself from _his car._

Finally giving in to the reality that the giant robot in front of her was no illusion, Shiloh had but two words. "Explain. _Now."_

* * *

**Translations:**

**Aloha - Hello.**

**Hana ma'aela - Trick.**


End file.
